


The Mobius Fault

by EK (ilyat)



Series: No World Order [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Illustrated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilyat/pseuds/EK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The game is over; the Scratch changed everything. Now, on a ruined Skaia, the decimated populations of humans, trolls, and carapacians struggle to survive in a post-apocalyptic world where laws are made by the strongest, and resources like water, food, and gasoline come at a premium. Vigilantism runs rampant. Bandits and mercenaries both thrive and prey on those weaker. And, somewhere amid all of this, fanatical cults spring up to fill in the gaps left by social discord and despair.</p><p>What a fucking mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ==> Be the troll psionic on death row.

_I see three men hangin’ from a sycamore_  
 _Their bodies were stiff as a two by four_  
 _And their heads were tilted down toward the ground_  
\- Murder by Death; "Three Men Hanging"

  


The sun had already crested the horizon, huge and bright and unwelcome. What coolness was left in the air from the too-short night before was quickly swept away as daytime bore down on the barren earth, heavy and oppressive and unforgiving. As if by some small consolation, there was still wind, but it wafted gusts of dry heat across the wasteland, churning up clouds of dust and ash.

Sitting up too straight for comfort on the back of a skittish runnerbeast, Sollux Captor stared blankly into the muted darkness of his blindfold. His head ached, and he felt both dizzy and queasy. He still wasn't sure just how much of that was from the concussion he was positive he'd gotten in the fight, and how much was from whatever the fuck type of poison they'd made him swallow sometime between knocking him out and him regaining consciousness again, hands hobbled painfully to the horn of his saddle. His mouth was dry, and his throat was on fire. The noose cinched close around his neck was a much more terrifying weight than he'd ever imagined.

While there were countless uncertainties left in life, this was not one of them: Sollux Captor desperately wanted to stay alive.

The stuttered tattoo of _crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch_ came nearer, then passed him by. One of his captors spoke to the other a short distance away, too low for him to make out any words. The cackle of laughter that followed was unmistakable, though, and it was enough to set his runnerbeast shifting around again until an unseen hand snatched at its reins before it could bolt prematurely.

"Ah, ah-! Can't have you ruining a perfectly good trial and execution!" The leader's voice was harsh and grating on his ears, and he could just imagine the way she was probably unnerving his runnerbeast even more by leaning in way too close to address it as if it were sapient. There was a jingle of tackle, and then the creature stepped back a foot, two feet, and the noose slackened enough for its knot to fall back between Sollux's shoulder blades. The momentary reprieve was little comfort.

"There's just two more left to do, and then we'll get to you, sugar cube!" With a wet, smacking noise that sounded disturbingly like she'd just kissed the beast, the leader stepped back to continue where she'd left off in her farce of a trial.

Because, _really_. Who the fuck really held _trials_ in the middle of nowhere, in a world where there hadn't been any law or government since well before either of them had been wrigglers? Sollux had only ever _once_ met someone who remembered a Skaia before the Scratch, who remembered that there actually were whole empires and countries and massive cities full of everything a person could dream or want for. And even then, some of the stories he'd been told seemed just too far out there, too implausible and contradictory, that he still couldn't be sure how much was fact and how much was fiction embellished just enough to pity a few extra shares of supplies out of the more naive of passers-by.

Probably the only good thing about this whole fucking mess was that finally, _finally_ he wouldn't have to put up with those voices whispering death and doom in the back of his mind any more. He'd known since forever that when his time came, he'd go out with a bang. But he'd always thought that the part about being blind first was supposed to be literal - not as figurative as the literal bit of cloth wound around his head, blocking out any way for him to train on things enough to telekinesize them even before taking that whole fucking dizzy-headache-poison business into consideration.

That little pathetic ray of sunshine was easy enough to ignore in the wake of everything else that had gone so fucking wrong.

Sollux slouched down in his saddle, drawing in on himself as much as he could. He would've curled forward into a pitiful ball, wriggler-style, if it weren't for the tug of the rope at his throat when he moved a bit too far to keep the noose slack. He started to imagine just what his partner would've said if she were there, then realized that _that_ was a monumentally terrible idea, and instead tried to think of what she would do to get _out_ of there. While no less helpful, it wasn't as bad as mentally debating if she'd just laugh at him or verbally assault him for being some bulgeless idiot who deserved culling by noose on account of being too stupid to evade a trap. Besides, he could berate himself on his own inadequacies more than well enough to cover the both of them.

The runnerbeast next to him shifted and clicked out a light nicker of distress. Someone was sobbing, blubbering, and it took Sollux a moment to realize that it was one of the posse, though he wasn't sure exactly which. He wasn't sure who was left alive.

"Does the guilty have any last words?" Her voice like metal grating against stone, the leader somehow had gotten much closer to Sollux again. It finally dawned on him that if she really _were_ there standing right next to him, then he was next in line to be subjected to some long string of bullshit right up until either his neck snapped or he asphyxiated on his own fear. He wondered how he managed to miss another death from so caught up in his own thoughts. Dean or Eric or whoever it was blubbering away to his right only managed a few unintelligible syllables that might've been, " _Please don't kill me,_ " in some other parallel universe but passed for absolutely nothing in this one.

Their judge-jury-and-executioner found the last statement just as lacking. "Then your sentence shall be carried out with all due haste!" With a _crack_ , the sudden scuffle of hooves and the sound of something _large_ starting forward at a gallop still wasn't enough to mask the sick whimper- _snap_ or the faint gurgling afterward as air was slowly expelled from already dying lungs through a throat that was suddenly far, _far_ too tight. Sollux's own runnerbeast skittered to the side, digging the thick rope into his neck in an all too horrifying promise of just what was about to come; a sharp cry from the other captor and a jerk to the creature's reins brought it back underneath the limb again.

  


Sollux wheezed air in through his abused throat, fighting the panic rising in him. It tasted like bile. "This one is being absolutely _impawsible_!" The other guard's complaint was met by the leader's cackle. "At least we're at the last here! All humans dead and accounted for; now it's just the troll to contend with. And then we can go take care of the one who absconded in the melee."

And, _fuck_ , but he was pretty sure that he could _hear_ the way she smiled at that, all toothy and intent on her prey like some trained stalkerbeast.

"Damnit. Why don't you just get on with it and kill me already," Sollux finally said, talking slowly through his words on account of his mouth feeling like it'd been stuffed full of cotton. "This is bullshit. You know and I know that it is complete and utter fucking bullshit. Your fake ass laws, your shitty trial - all you're doing is justifying your actions to yourself so you can pretend that you aren't just like the rest of us. Fuck that. Fuck your laws, fuck your trial, and especially fuck _you_!"

"There will be order in this court!" The growl came from somewhere disturbingly close, and for a moment there he wondered if he really did manage to egg her on enough to just dispense with the whole charade and kill him quickly. His hopes, if they could be called that, were dashed as soon as she continued, "You will have your turn to speak after the charges have been listed and evidence of your guilt offered to the tribunal!"

"Tribunal my ass," he spat back at her. "Your tribunal consists of two trolls and a mutant meowbeast."

"Silence!" Said mutant meowbeast gave a throaty growl from somewhere up above in the tree, and even the other troll let out an indignant, "Hey!"

"Let the record show that the court will forgive this unseemly outburst on account of it being a first time offense! The accused should consider this magnanimous gesture in a respectful silence." The disgusted snort he made at that claim wasn't technically any sort of verbal objection, but even still he had almost run out of fucks to give. "Sollux Captor, you appear before us today to stand trial in a court of common law for your crimes against the life and welfare of Skaia's denizens! Your case shall be heard before a tribunal, who shall ultimately determine the worth of your words against the facts presented herein. Due to the extreme nature of these crimes, there shall be granted no continuations, and all rulings are considered both immediate and final!"

Only the blindfold kept hidden the way he rolled his eyes at that.

"The crimes for which you are charged are as follows: _Theft of property of which you have no claim_ ; _Destruction of property of which you have no claim_ ; _Collusion with a known outlaw and threat to society_ ; and _Slaying of multiple sapients for purposes other than judicial or self-defense_." She leaned closer, leaned _up_ enough that he could hear her gravelly voice right by his side. "Before the court presents its evidence - which I assure you is _plenty!_ \- have you any plea to make for these charges? Not guilty? _Guilty?_ Nolo contendere?"

"Fuck that shit," Sollux spat, leaning down to stare, unseeing, at her as much as the noose would allow him. "You and I both know that I sure as hell did at least half of the things you're trying me for, and that I'd do them again in a heartbeat. Just like you and I both know that _you'd do the same fucking thing_. The only difference is that I'm fucking sick and tired of you getting your nook worked up over my fucking shitty luck and your even shittier courtroom drama spiel. Just hurry up and get it over with so I don't have to put up with this noise any more."

"Is that a plea of _guilty_ , then?" Somehow, she managed to lean even closer. He could smell her breath.

"Screw you. _Yes._ " And this time he really _did_ spit, right in her face - just a bit of spittle to hopefully smack her where she least wanted it and with nowhere near enough moisture to be considered anything but a parody of that more respectful gesture of sharing water between allies. Her answering snarl was enough to make him laugh a bit, giddy on the thought that everything really was about to end and he wasn't even sure if there was a god or afterlife waiting for him when it was all said and done.

The runnerbeast shifted under him, skittering back a pace. The sound of claws digging into the tree beside him was punctuated by falling bark and debris, and this time there was no jingle of tackle to pull the creature back in line again. Sollux gritted his teeth, fangs digging into his lips, as the rope pulled against his neck at an awkward angle.

Heedless of his discomfort, or even of the fact that the runnerbeast seemed ready to bolt on its own, the leader grumbled from a bit further away, "You wait until _now_ to get a better view?" Only an answering growl came down from out of the tree, branches creaking and no doubt causing the other bodies to sway in some sort of macabre corpse puppet dance. Sollux realized suddenly that he couldn't feel his fingers anymore, so tight were the lashings around his wrists; it seemed like a stupid thing to fixate on when he had a double date with a short drop and a sudden stop.

In an even more stupid gesture, he closed his eyes, just like the blindfold wasn't enough. He could feel the way his forearms were clenching and unclenching, his feet doing the same, just do to something, _anything_ , to let him focus on anything but what was going on. Blood pounded in his ears, and the sound of his pulse _thump-ump-THUMP_ was so deafening that he was certain the others could hear it, too. And when he barely registered the formal words being spoken to him, then, he realized just why the last guy - _Eric_ , he was sure of it now - hadn't managed to say anything coherent.

Facing death every day by running into the fray with guns blazing was one thing. Facing death after waiting for an hour at the other end of a heavy noose was a different thing entirely, with the anticipation probably - he hoped, anyway - _much_ worse than the actual deed itself. It gave him way too much time to think. And rethink. And think again.

"Sollux Captor, the court accepts your plea of _guilty_ and hereby sentences you to hang by the neck until dead! Does the guilty have any last words?"

And suddenly all of the thoughts, all of the sounds, even all of the _smells_ and _tastes_ rushed together in one giant roar that built until he thought his head would burst - and then there was _nothing_ but calm.

Sollux grinned. He bared his twin fangs for her, for the tribunal, for all of Skaia to see.

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I do have some last words. Two of them."

He sat up a bit straighter in his saddle, the sharp needles of pain in his fingers letting him know that he was getting back _just enough_ circulation in his fingers to actually hold onto the saddle's horn by his own volition, to feel the grit in it against his palms. He took a deep breath, enjoying the way the dry air felt hot even in his lungs and savoring its taste of dust and smoke. He relished in the sharp stench of rusted metal and old leather and sweat. He loved the way that the growl up above had turned a shade more menacing, and the way the gravel skittering off the side of the nearby cliff echoed in the distance.

" _Screw you_."


	2. Prelude the First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ==> Be the fucking awesome vigilante bounty hunter.

_You let the dogs bite at your ankles_  
 _Let the sunshine burn your eyes_  
 _But will you just walk away this time?_  
\- Murder by Death; "A Second Opinion"

  


In the gospel according to Terezi Pyrope, there was stated one truth raised up on high before all others:

_Without exception, all sapients are held accountable before the law._

And, according to her, there never had been nor would there ever _be_ another vigilante team as impartial or as effective as the Terrors Sisters in upholding said gospel's truths.

Officially unionized in the Year Post-Scratch Double Aught Twenty Nine, the Terror Sisters were registered and patented in the crumbling halls belonging to an aging human clerk from the long dead Kingdom of Texas, a seal of notary emblazoned on their Writ of Conscript like some errant star fallen down from the heavens to smite the delinquent earth. Their only witness was an ebon carapacian whom they'd coerced into accompanying them with the promise of a can of string beans in payment upon services rendered. And, when it was over, they gave their Witness Volunteered his can of string beans, just like the upstanding Skaian privateers they were.

That had been a good day. A _very_ good day.

Half a decade later, give or take a few perigees, Terezi Pyrope and her enthusiastic partner were on the hunt again.

Granted, there was never a time that they _weren't_ on the hunt, and in this particular time in question they had just finished tracking down their quarry. It had been a several night-long affair, the Sisters winding their way steadily through the rugged terrain of what had once been the eastern half of Prospit - full of high mountains and sheer cliffs, all covered over with the tenacious scrub brush that persisted just to spite the lingering effects of radioactive decay.

Their timing had been _impeccable_ , although anything less would have been a disservice to the bounty hunters' long and lurid history. The gang had managed to delude themselves, believing that they were utterly unstoppable, and the long night had been spent on boozing and posturing to one another instead of travelling hard and fast to put as much distance as possible between them and their pursuers. Granted, it would've helped their cause to know that they _were_ being hunted, but, "As the blind prophets say, _your hindsight's only perfect after you pluck out your eyes_." Covered in blood and dust and reeking of gunsmoke and death, Terezi Pyrope couldn't help but laugh at the way the last one shrank back from her and her words, his fate already sealed by the noose draped heavily around his neck.

The carnage was _delicious_. The results were _exquisite_.

The whole hunt was _beyond_ a success.

  


  


Her only regret was that the gang had actually been stupid enough to use gas-powered and engine-propelled devices instead of runner or packbeasts. While they would be able to sell off some of the fuel and choice parts for a mint back at one of the colonies, it was always much less satisfying to execute an execution by kicking out a step beneath the feet of the guilty than it was to send a mount flying and a body swinging.

A final swift drop later, the two were well on their way toward replenishing their own supplies and supplementing their wares with the choicest of the gang's stash. There wasn't much of _real_ value, but there was still enough to make the hunt worth it - especially on top of whatever meager reward they might or might not still manage to cash in for bringing back the horns.

Gangs led by trolls were always the easiest catch since proof of dispatch rarely necessitated outright decapitation. Only the pickiest customers still demanded the full head, and nine times out of ten it was for far more than mere proof.

But this was not the time for Carnivalians.

This was a story of the Terror Sisters. 

"Magister? Pouncellor? Report!"

With a scrabble of stone and dust, the entire party of two trolls and one massively oversized meowbeast converged in the barren basin of what had once been a pond - as evidenced by a beached canoe laying on its side by the weathered and looted remains of a dock. Further up on the nearby rise hung seven limp corpses - four troll, two carapacians, and a human - each as dead as the next and strung up on the skeletal remains of a gutted house.

Even the trees rarely cooperated enough to provide a decent gallows.

Terezi sat back on her heels, one pack folded between her feet and with a handful of capsules nested on its closed flap. "I found only six frog eggs on the recently deceased, half doses all, which brings our supply up to four full nights each. Did either of you have any luck?"

While the large meowbeast had nothing to contribute, pills or otherwise, the other troll nearly bounced with unrestrained excitement. "Yes! Oh, it was purrticularly good luck! They had a whole _jar_ hidden away in one of their motor device storage units. Well, not whole, to be purrcise, but still mostly full! There's at least thirty or forty halves."

Her rows of angular teeth catching the moonlight savagely, Terezi grinned wider. "Now that _is_ excellent news, Pouncellor. Twelve hundred rumpus merits awarded! We won't have to turn back tonight after all and can pick up where the other band's trail broke off."

With the basic tools for finding and collecting water on hand, they could last for weeks in the rugged wasteland - traveling at night to conserve energy and liquid, and using long years of practice hunting the elusive wildlife for food. They could last for weeks, but only so long as their anti-rad capsules held out. Not even the Terror Sisters were crazy enough to hunt in the de-civved zones without the proper precautions on hand to counter the aftereffects of the Scratch and the residual radiation left behind in its wake around every major city of Skaia.

Growling so low that even her partner couldn't hear her, Terezi murmured to herself, "I always hate to rely on something so fickle, but .. let's see just how long this lucky streak lasts."

It wasn't long before they had everything in order again, packs securely lashed to their own runnerbeasts and refilled with essential and not-so-essential supplies - including two skins of diesel, which would fetch a nice price at the right colony - and then the Sisters were off again with several hours yet before sunrise. With shrouds pulled close around them to keep out the night chill, and cloth and goggles both covering what was left exposed of their faces to shield them from dust and sand, the only thing that marked them for troll from any other traveler were the pair of horns stabbing outward through fabric and bits of hair. And with the muted colors and road-worn gear of every other nomad, the only thing that marked them for hunter was the way they carried themselves and the excellent condition of their weapons.

Proper care for one's tools was essential in any line of work, and foremost in that which brought justice and judgment to the unrepentant.

  


  
It was another two days before they picked up the trail again.

Their quarry this time was a small band of bandits, mixed species by all reports, but mostly human. That meant that they would be at a disadvantage at night with their limited eyesight and equally stunted ability to smell danger on the wind. However, there always was a chance of something going awry when tracking a group that had as extensive of a record as the Scarabs.

Terezi's partner shared her disdain. "I can't believe they named themselves after those stupid bugs! Eugh! Who'd want to be associated with something refurred to as a _dung beetle_ , anyway?"

Terezi laughed, the sound coming out much more like a wild cackle than anything truly mirthful. "Have some respect for the soon-to-be-dead! They can call themselves whatever they want. By tomorrow, there won't be much left of them to call anything, least of all for help. But," she added, her grin wide and sharklike, "The Pouncellor is correct in that it _is_ a stupid name."

Sniffing delicately, Nepeta held her nose up in the air. "The Pouncellor is glad that Her Tyranny concurs!"

There were few other sapients that Terezi Pyrope got along well enough with to team up for any extended period of time. Her partner, Nepeta Leijon, not only fell solidly within that camp but was also of the type that Terezi knew she could count on to help establish some semblance of order - or at the very least, some semblance of _justice_ \- in a world full of chaos. Fiercely ruthless when the situation warranted, and just as cunning at tracking as her feline companion, it also really helped that they shared the same sense of humor. The ability to talk in the third person at the drop of a hat was just an added bonus.

"Regardless! I vote that we use the standard protocol for approaching a small band of mixed sapients and wait until a few hours before dawn to take them, just like last time. That'll give us plenty of time to close the distance before they make camp and set up a nice perimeter for the ambush."

It was Nepeta's turn to grin. "The Pouncellor seconds the motion!"

"Her Tyranny acknowledges the second and asks for all in favor to vote in the affirmative."

Two _ayes_ and one growl confirmed the vote, and neither of their runnerbeasts even so much as shied away at the sound of the massive meowbeast a scant few feet behind.

"Any opposed?" Terezi let the silence drag out just enough to be dramatic. "The _ayes_ have it, then, by unanimous decree. Her Tyranny declares this rumpus to be adjourned, to reconvene at a later time to carry out the strike!"

"Purrfect! I love it when it's unanimouse." Nepeta clucked at her mount and snapped it into a canter, as if reaching the next rise would bring nightfall to them sooner. The pale runnerbeast took off with Pounce bounding in its wake - and Terezi cackling behind in a cloud of dust.

She knew that they really shouldn't push their mounts too hard just yet as it was still several hours before sunset, but at least the shadows had started to lengthen and the stale air stir with the transition toward a cooler evening imminent. A little fun to keep spirits high was certainly more than warranted! Nudging her own darker runnerbeast into a trot, she moved after her two partners-at-law.

Preparations for the ambush went as smooth as ever. After so many sweeps of working together, they each knew the part the other would play in this deadly dance - just as they each knew what they would need to have ready to bear. Their heavier bags and gear were cached temporarily in a pile of rubble along the ridgeline, all essential supplies removed and resecured in lighter packs lashed to their saddles. The skyline was on fire in streaks of cherry red and grape purple set against the sloping dusky mountains, and it quickly darkened to the dim glow of spent embers as they worked.

Terezi made sure that there was plenty of rope, some thick and right for the noose while the rest was thin cording, much better suited to lashing hands or feet or horns. One could never be _too_ prepared!

Tack was padded with pre-cut strips of cloth to keep the metal from jangling. The ground was loose and sandy between the larger boulders, though, so there was no need to muffle runnerbeast hooves with makeshift padding. That was always for the best. Doing so meant they would have to go slower at first or risk some of the fabric slipping, and invariably they would lose or ruin half of the set if things took a turn toward nasty - which they _always_ seemed to do those days.

Terezi had Nepeta take one final look over their gear to ensure that nothing was left behind before swinging up into her own saddle. Her cane was secured just forward of her right knee, set so she could slide either it or the sword within from both a-beast and on ground; slung beneath her left leg was the shotgun, canted at just the right angle for drawing it from its scabbard and firing while still mounted. That part was especially important as it was one of the key components of Standard Protocol. She ran her hand along its unbuckled clasp one last time to feel that it was ready.

With a grin, she continued to face their distant target. "Is the Pouncellor satisfied that all preparations are in order?"

There was only a moment's pause and a bit of shuffling before Nepeta answered. "The Pouncellor apurrves! And she even packed extra jerky this time, just in case we get turned around again coming back and we have to spend an extra day to find our supplies."

"Excellent foresight! Two hundred and fifty rumpus merits!" Though they both had agreed to never speak of _that_ particularly embarrassing incident ever again, they both invariably forgot their solemn oaths whenever it came time to making sure that it was never repeated. "Just see to it that Magister Pounce of the Meowbeast Enclave doesn't try to abscond with those delicious morsels while we do all of the hard work."

Nepeta gasped, appalled. "She would _never_!"

"Never get caught, you mean!"

"Pounce is a full fledged member of the Terror Sisters and understands the impawsibly impurrtant burden it is to assume that role! She would _never_ shirk her duties, or do anything that would impaws on another sister. Including stealing jerky!" Nepeta turned in her saddle to find her companion. "Right, Pounce? Pounce? Hey- _HEY! Pounce! NO! BAD meowbeast!!_ "

Terezi cackled anew as her partner scrambled down from her mount and tore off on foot after Pounce, the latter having already absconded with a few choice strips.

It was all too soon before the air of levity was gone. The sharp chill of night was already stirring the dusty ground with bursts of wind fit for sending plumes of sand spinning leeward from each rise. All of the daybeasts had long since gone to ground, holing up for the night in whatever meager protection they could find while others roamed the darkened landscape. One of the moons hung low on the horizon, huge and pale and nearing full. There were almost no clouds, and the stars twinkled in unbroken patterns above.

The two on runnerbeast picked their way carefully along the ridgeline, edging down one side or the other when the stones outnumbered the sandy patches. From their path on high, they had a prime vantage point for scouting the lay of the land - and with night at their backs, their silhouettes would be negligible. It was slow going, but it was still only an hour past midnight when the faint murmur of the wind rose enough that they could pick out the sound of voices somewhere further ahead.

Pounce caught the sound first, freezing three lengths ahead, her ears pricked forward and tail held out behind, tip twitching to and fro in anticipation of the hunt. With a silent gesture to her partner, Terezi brought her runnerbeast to a halt and listened to the night's susurrus. The voices came again, low and distant and broken by a brief bit of laughter that managed to carry far better. Her mount worried at its bit in the pause that followed, but by then they had all trained on which ridge to move toward next. A heartbeat later and they were moving again, Pounce still in the lead and picking her way carefully down the side of the ridge toward the valley's floor.

Before they reached it, a new sound rose on the wind, stronger and deeper than either voice or laughter. It was a low growl, a mechanical purr, and it came as a deep thrumming that reverberated down the length of the valley.

"Idiots," Terezi growled, keeping her own voice as low as possible. That not one but _two_ bands in a row actually used the gas-powered driving devices in such rough terrain was both promising and troubling. On the one hand, it was further testament to the fact that the Scarabs were clearly outclassed by their pursuers. On the other hand.. perhaps something more was afoot. The wind had picked up by then, and it caused the sound of the engine to echo oddly with irregular pitches and drops in its thrumming cadence. The shouts that it overcame could be of jubilation or fear, the laughter mirthful or merciless.

Terezi felt her skin crawl on her nape, her senses suddenly sharper. Any good hunter knew when to listen to those odd _feelings_ that were not entirely psychic - but were close enough to pass as much among trollkind. And Terezi Pyrope was more than just good; she was _phenomenal_.

The sound of the engine didn't last much longer before the pitch changed and faded, its rider having left the main group for reasons unknown. That didn't bode well. A split party would complicate things unnecessarily, a fact that the Sisters knew all too well; they didn't even need to exchange a silent glance to know that the other was already considering the same course of reaction to this new hurdle.

A series of sharp reports followed, the cracks of gunfire echoing through the valleys long after shots had ceased.

Several more shouts rose in the aftermath, and a high whine that was impossible to distinguish as sapient or machine. And then there was nothing.

Her mouth set in a hard line, Terezi motioned with one hand, halting the procession. She didn't have to say a word to Nepeta. She didn't have to drop her hand to her knee to reassure herself that the shotgun was still unsnapped and ready to bring to bear. But she did anyway.

"Bad news already, and we're still several leagues off. Standard protocol is no longer an option. I say it's either we cut our losses now," Terezi neither paused nor was surprised by the immediate mutter of disapproval, "Or approach in recon mode, see what the hell just went down, who's left alive, and if there's anything worth going in for before actually making contact. What says the rest of the Tribune?"

Pounce's opinion was typically a negligible matter; it was usually assumed that Nepeta spoke for both of them, which, well, she usually did. The only times it ever came up were when Terezi invoked some obscure Dersite statute that declared Magistrates as having marginally less power than - and thus having the potential to be vetoed by - another Tribunal member.

This was not one of those times.

"We've gone this far. It would be awfurry silly to turn back now after all of that, and with them almost between our claws, too. It's pawsible they just pulled an ambush of their own, too."

"Maybe.."

Terezi hesitated a minute longer, her face still set and her mind racing. The Scarabs were stupid, yes, but they certainly hadn't begun to make a name for themselves out of sheer incompetence. It was entirely plausible that they might have netted a successful strike. The only problem was that they were deep in the wastes of eastern Prospit, a scant two nights' ride to the outer ring of the dead zone where even the scrub brush refused to grow back and the first massive craters began where once had stood a massive city. No legitimate trade route passed anywhere near there, especially with the increased threat of contamination.

Her mount shifted its weight and nickered quietly. No other sound carried on the wind, the nightlife eerily quiet in the wake of the earlier excitement. She sniffed at the air.

"Yes. Recon mode it is."

This time, there were no jubilant shouts or sprinted false starts. The Sisters simply resumed their trek again as one.

It was slow going, and in the spaces between the ridgelines they lost track of where their quarry was, the sounds either echoing oddly between the rocky cliffs or muffled out entirely by virtue of the erratic terrain. Dry grass and scrub brush muted the sound of pebbles rolling whenever they hit a gravelly patch. The first moon marched steadily across the sky, and soon the second followed in its wake. By the time it had passed the zenith, the Terror Sisters had scented their prey and were closing in fast.

Neither the gas-powered driving device nor - presumably - its operator had returned by then. However, the nightbeasts _had_ , and the gradual rise of their chirps and cries filled the silence and helped to hide the scrabble-clap sound of the hunters' passage. When they reached the last rise, Pounce bounded ahead on an unspoken command. Her pale fur disappeared disturbingly fast amid the mottled shadows of the scrub brush. Terezi and Nepeta dismounted and tethered their runnerbeasts by a low overhang, each arming herself with at least one bit of artillery before following at a slower clip on foot. They were ever more cautious now that the end was nigh.

When they reached the top of the ridgeline, they found Pounce crouched and waiting. Only the tip of her tail moved, flicking back and forth rapidly in warning. The trolls slowed, then slunk forward on hands and knees, careful to keep their gear from knocking against the rocks.

Shadows stretched eerily across the valley before them, now and again illuminated in pale grape and muted lime by the gleam of the two moons. It was very still and very quiet. The smoldering remains of a campfire glowed dully below, dying embers scattered in twin lines that radiated from its core. Cooked meat and burnt hair wafted up to them on an errant breeze. It was not an unpleasant combination in spite of the acrid bite to it, and Terezi was chagrined when she heard her stomach growl.

  


  
Nepeta caught her attention with a light touch to her elbow, the smaller troll gesturing toward the shadows beneath a hillock half a furlough away. Cocking her head to the side, Terezi focused on that spot, her lips curled back in concentration and teeth just barely parted. It was a long minute before she caught what her partner had sighted first - the faint movement of something or some _one_ in the darkness, and the light scrape-scuttle of claws raking across loose gravel. She waited another minute as the thing stilled, then stirred, then stilled again, and meanwhile the faint rasping sound of labored breathing filtered up to them now and again when the wind turned _just_ right.

Whirls of dark smoke skittered across the camp and caught Terezi’s attention again. The longer she took to take it all in, the more apparent were the signs of a pitched fight. Several two-wheeled gas-powered devices were cast haphazardly on their sides, one slowly dripping the bitter-slick reek of crude gasoline. Dark forms lay scattered around like scattered leaves, the metallic dampness clinging to them now more clearly the mark of pooling blood. Sulfur and steel wafted on the erratic breeze, the spent shells and casings all but invisible in the rugged terrain but their results glaringly obvious once a troll knew what to look for.

And, underlying it all, the dry, dusty musk of runnerbeast.

Whiskers and ears twitching, Pounce rose up on her haunches, then carefully crept down the side of the ridge. Now and again the scrub would part enough to reveal her lean form ghosting across the boulders before it was swallowed again in shadow.

Terezi and Nepeta both followed in a slower descent, the former using her cane as a climbing stick for balance while the latter alternated between leaping from rock to rock and freezing at irregular intervals, poised precariously on the edge of each short drop like a climbing hoofbeast. It wasn’t until they heard Pounce’s rasping yowl from below that they dared pick up their pace from the slow and silent creep. The call was signal enough for the all clear; whatever threat that might have laid in wait before was already long gone. Both trolls implicitly trusting her assessment of the carnage, they hurried down amid sheets of pebbles jostled free, the sound of cascading gravel deafening in the wake of their earlier silence.

Nepeta whooped as she reached the floor, then tore off at a run toward the nearest bodies strewn around the nearly-dead campfire. “Traps! _Traps_!” Terezi called after her, a bit slower in maneuvering between the boulders, and as concerned as ever that the necessary safety procedures be taken even when there appeared to be few, if any, survivors. Though it was still hard to tell if there had been an internal skirmish or if they had merely fell victim to another gang, it was entirely plausible that there were still untripped lines or hidden stakes left behind - by either the ambushers or the camping party itself.

“Pounce already checked this spot! And besides, I just found a purrsitively _huge_ stash of wire and shrap-mines, all tucked away in a bag like a tiny nestbeast!”

By the time Terezi made it down, Nepeta had dragged three bodies - two human, one carapacian - toward the embers, their outer jackets and cloaks already flung back in the aftermath of a quick search. A handful of things were set out on an open handkerchief, scant spoils of value next to the larger pack full of explosive trappings. She didn’t stay there long; one of the human corpses had half its face roasted right off by the low embers, dark soot smeared back across its ruined head. “I think the Magister found one still alive,” she just growled, moving past her partner and across the ruined camp toward the deeper shadows and where she had heard the labored breathing from above. Whatever had been there before was quiet now, but the frosty pale shape of Pounce was unmistakable, her belly pressed to the ground and her tail lashing from side to side.

“Oh!” Nepeta stopped in her tracks, letting a forth body drop heavily onto the ground. Its head lolled oddly to one side, neck snapped by some means but with no blood showing anywhere. “I almost forgot about that one.”

Terezi just gave a derisive snort and kept walking, flicking aside bits of shale with the tip of her cane. “I think that the two of us can manage a nearly deceased sapient while you take care of the rest of those. Just don’t get yourself killed by the dead. That would be _beyond_ embarrassing!”

“That’s prepawsterous! Of course I won’t!”

Adjusting the sling so she could slide the heft of her shotgun over her free forearm, ready to pivot around to fire in the span of a heartbeat, Terezi slowed her approach as she neared Pounce. The gurgling breaths rose again, much fainter than before, but still very clearly marking something alive. The huge meowbeast growled low in her throat, two rows of teeth bared in aggression, but she made no move to leap forward; even Pounce felt the need to maintain appearances every now and again, just like the rest of them.

Stepping carefully forward with the muzzle pointed at the prone figure, Terezi made a face that was somewhere between a grin and a grimace. “Alright, what do we have here? Are you alive? _Dead_? Not yet sure, but caught somewhere in the middle?” She nudged at the figure’s side with her cane, the shotgun held before her at a low ready.

The almost-corpse, a human, whimpered and choked out something unintelligible in response. Turning her head to one side like a wingbeast studying its prey, Terezi jabbed at the thing’s side again. “You’re going to have to speak up! Are- _were_ you a member of the Scarabs?” Now resting her weight on her cane, she leaned forward at a dangerous angle, looming over the crumpled human.

“Y-yes,” the woman sobbed, one broken hand scrabbling in effectively across the sand and stone. “Was,” she added, her voice thick and wet. “Ambush, we- they got our camp. Couldn’t- Mirthful _Gods_ , can’t believe we were s-such idiots. Didn’t bother with the traps.”

The troll nodded, her expression the antithesis of concern and her teeth flashing like jagged knives. “It’ll do it to you every time! Just because this is the wastes doesn’t mean that you’re safe; just because you need at least a week’s worth of frog eggs doesn’t mean that someone else doesn’t have it, too! Only _amateurs_ would actually set up camp in a place like this without a lookout, or without a perimeter at the very least.” Clucking her tongue as if the woman were nothing more than a naughty grub, Terezi straightened and finally settled some of her weight against her cane instead of using it to antagonize her further.

“Please,” the human tried to say before breaking into a series of rasping coughs. “Mercy.”

Terezi’s grin faded; her teeth remained bared. She stared down at the dying woman for a long moment, taking in the sharp tang of trauma, the copper of blood, the slick-savory of exposed muscle, and even Pounce’s rumbling growls faded into silence. “Fine. If it’s mercy you want, first you have to give me what _I_ want. Talk. Who was it?”

The woman gave a sharp hiss, and at first Terezi thought she might just die on her anyway. Somehow she managed to persevere. “Scourge,” she rasped between increasing coughs and Terezi’s own muttered _hoofbeastshit_. “Was the Scourge. Swear to both the Messiahs it was- I saw her myself with my own eyes. Her and the other troll, two- two human, rest ‘pacians- five, maybe six. They- wasn’t a fight, really, was a fucking _slaughter_ \- didn’t stand a chance.”

The troll stood there impassively, saying and offering nothing as the woman fell to another spasm of coughs. She didn’t move when she heard Nepeta’s soft footsteps approach from behind, stopping somewhere near Pounce.

“Ross- he was the only one who got away. Got in a fight with Nate just before it all happened, fucking best or worst timing- I don’t even know. But he was- he was fixing to skip out anyway right before they jumped us, and he just hightailed it out of here when the necks started snapping and the bodies started dropping.” Terezi narrowed her eyes in an unnecessary gesture. “Didn’t see it start, didn’t- didn’t see it end, either. I got shot by one of the ivories, I think, and- and just ended up falling near here. Tried to- to crawl away, but I started to black out.”

Trailing off into an increasingly worse series of coughs, the woman stopped talking after that. Terezi let the silence drag out, knowing full well that her partner was barely restraining her own eager observations after having heard only the second half of what had been said. Finally, Terezi spoke again, her voice low and dangerous and her words clipped.

“Scourge doesn’t leave survivors.”

Behind her, Nepeta stilled with a slight hiss of breath.

The seconds dragged on, and for a while it seemed that the woman might finally be dead.

“No,” she finally rasped, her voice already faint with the effort of merely talking. “No, Scourge don’t leave no survivors. I’m good as dead, I figure, and I managed to play dead long enough when the ebons were checking bodies. Ross- that _fucker_ , I think he’s the only reason I didn’t get my neck broke or my throat slit. They were too busy worrying after him taking off that they wasn’t too thorough with the rest of us.” When she grimaced - no, _grinned_ , Terezi realized belatedly - her teeth were coated in a slick cherry and in stark contrast the painted lines on her face. It was like some tasteless joke staring right back at her, black and white and red all over. “Still not sure if I should be thankin’ him or not.”

“That’s entirely up to you,” Terezi replied, her tone an unsettling take on mild. She was already gripping her cane a bit too tightly, her stance a bit too tense; the news of just _who_ they had barely missed was almost too much to take, and knowing that it was _Vriska Serket_ who had gotten the jump on _her_ quarry was beyond infuriating. The messenger was just icing on the cake. “I’ll certainly have to thank him if I ever managed to find him alive. His acts of cowardice and insubordination has certainly afforded me the most reliable witness to what transpired, and even a rough timeframe on when they departed on runnerbeast.”

“How did- how did you know _that_? I never said what.. how they left.”

Leaning forward on her cane, she offered her best toothy smile. “I’m Terezi Pyrope, Terror Sister and hunter extraordinaire. Do you really think I can’t smell a runnerbeast when it’s spent this long in one place?”

“Shit- shit, shit, we-” In spite of it all, the woman somehow started to laugh. ”If that’s the case, then we were all dead anyway.”

This time, it was Nepeta’s turn to sniff disdainfully. “The Pouncellor moves that the mercy asked for be given immediately!”

“Seconded,” growled Terezi. “All in favor?” And when she growled again, it was in time with Pounce’s own.

Slinging her long gun over her shoulder, she pulled her sword with a faint _shink_ , stepping closer to the woman whose name she neither knew nor cared to hear. “Any opposed?”

“ _..the shield and the sword, to hide and to harm. You are the forge and catalyst for joy and despair, for ennui and rage, to woo and to hide, to temper and unleash the demon within. You are the flame searing my wrists, you are my blood spilled and lost. You are the laughter on the wind, you are.._ ”

“The _ayes_ have it then,” Terezi said, raising her own voice to drown out the murmured prayers of the dying. “In lieu of a trial, you are hereby granted _mercy_ by the Tribunal. May your deliverance be swift-”

“ _..all as one truth beneath the star-strewn swathes draped across the sky. And though I may stumble and fall from my line, and though I may waver and drop from my hands.._ ”

“-and may your _gods_ welcome you with open arms.”

“ _..where mirth shall overflow unto all who have but to ask to know the Dark--_ ”

In a single fluid motion, Terezi snapped her thin sword out in a low arc, slitting open the woman’s throat all the way to the vertebrae. She knew it could have been cleaner - a complete cut - but the half minute or so of gurgling was a small price to pay for taking the time to find a suitable chopping block. Tempted as ever to keep the human blood on the steel for its delicious color, she finally knelt down to clean it on the woman’s shirt with a sigh.

Nepeta still hadn’t spoken a word since her assent.

Terezi stood there for a moment, her head bowed in deliberation and her toothy frown terrifying to behold. When she finally spoke again, her voice was low and dangerous. “If there is anything that I can’t stand more than Vriska Serket and her goddamned _Scourge_ , it’s a Carnivalian _zealot_ dropping into a murdermirthful religious high. Nepeta, promise me one thing, and one thing only and I swear on the court _itself_ that anything else you could possibly do will get automatic Tribunal pardoning.”

The faint crunch of gravel and shale was telling enough of her partner’s approach. “Purromise what?” The thin voice came from just behind her.

“Promise me that you’ll never get caught up with those stupid clowns.”

Terezi sheathed her blade and turned away from the mercycution, making her way slowly back toward where the rest of the bodies had been gathered and the small cache of supplies that her partner had deemed useful enough to bring with them. She and Nepeta both knew that right then talking was the last thing that she needed, and so she was left to puzzle over the loot alone while the other troll took her time in securing the rest of the area.

Carnivalians were always bad news, as far as she was concerned, and while she wasn’t but _so_ surprised that one ended up on the Scarabs, hearing that baseless religious babble was just rubbing salt in the wounds that the Scourge - that _Vriska_ \- had reopened by her mere presence. The Sisters usually stayed well away from south Derse where the religion had managed to flourish in the wake of the Scratch and where the narc trade was best, but it was impossible to avoid all of the converts. And, grudgingly, she could well agree that they tended to put up a damned good fight that got her blood pumping in all of the right ways, but that was an admission she was only willing to give on the best of days - not in the wake of history delivering a sucker punch to her gut. Terezi pulled off her goggles and gloves and scrubbed at her face in frustration. The night air felt dry and chill on her suddenly exposed skin. It felt good.

With a slow breath, she turned to pick through the larger pack full of shrap-mines and line, fingers deftly dislodging one set from the next and unwinding the gauze used as makeshift padding. The jagged lines of the knucklebones was unmistakable, the wire holding them in place bound neat and tight, but something else was off. Turning first one and then another over in her hands, Terezi was so intent on studying them that she barely caught sound of Nepeta’s approach.

“Just two more skins of water, one mostly empty, and a week’s worth of bars. They’re old, though, and purrobably won’t taste too good.” Nepeta crouched down beside her. She could feel the intense, questioning look but didn’t rise to it.

“Someone’s modded the shrap-mines.” Terezi held one out to the other troll, feeling the wicked edges of the knucklebones press dangerously into her palm. “Half of the remote activation chips are removed, though the wiring and casing is still there. Almost all of the compound, too. It was someone _good_ , and it wasn’t the Scarabs. Or Vriska. She’s good, but she’s not _that_ good - just like she’s not good enough to actually make someone snap his own neck. It has to be the other troll with her.”

“You mean she picked up a real savant? Is that pawsible?” Nepeta gingerly set down the useless shrap-mine on the ground, tilting her head to one side to look at her.

Terezi bared her teeth. “She’s Vriska. Anything’s possible.” She looked up toward the sky, still dark but with the first of its moons nearing the far horizon. She could taste the subtle difference in the way the air turned a shade toward salty just before the predawn light would filter out over the waste.

This close to Prospit’s outer ring meant that daytime travel was even more dangerous, and while they had plenty of supplies, they couldn’t ride hard until the next night. The Scourge had at least a three hours’ head start, likely on fresher mounts if everything that Terezi knew of them was still right. And they had the manedmeowbeast’s share of the loot, completely discounting whatever else their bomb-savvy member had pilfered. And _then_ there was the matter of a second savant to match Vriska herself. Things were _not_ looking promising.

But what fun was it when they always did?

“No,” Terezi said, decided. “You know about her last raid, the one on Seaside Colony where it was guns blazing and join-us-or-die. This here is a fluke, her getting involved with our hunt. But business like that? No, no way. She’s gotten away with too much for far too long. It’s time we turn this to our advantage and finish it once and for all. We’ll see which way she went, then go back for our gear. First thing in the evening and we’ll start after her. Agreed?”

  


  
Nepeta’s hand closed over her shoulder and squeezed. In spite of herself, Terezi reached up to cover it with her own. “ _Agreed_.”

Once again, the hunt was on.


End file.
